a void
There's that moment when minds run blank and it can stretch out across a day like the clouded sky you're staring into the crevasses of, a grey, ambiguous lack. And then there's time on end where there's that dearth in your chest, when you try to swallow and it gets nowhere, because like a blank mind, your soul can run blank too. Shooting blanks, firing blanks, out into the snowy night, echoing it with the void, pouring out an indistinguishable nothingness. If you were to bow forward, tip your breastbone as you held yourself up against the concrete, you could see any vitality you have spill invisibly against the pavement. It's been waiting to be purged for a long time, and you've been secretly wishing it, hoping that you could feel no longer. But when you can't, sometimes you choke on air itself.